


A Second Chance

by Ludo13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hogwarts Era, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludo13/pseuds/Ludo13
Summary: To save him, she brought him back. But at  what cost to her sanity? Now she must learn to use her new powers and  come out of the war without compromising herself.And what of her future? What will she have to pay in exchange for his life?There's just so much one witch can do!Big thanks go toRandomNinjaNerd@TDAfor the beautiful banner.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
>  
> 
>  

  
Author's notes: **This chapter was beta'ed by Queen of Hearts**.

 

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  


* * *

 

 

 

**Prologue**

  
  
Hermione Granger had always known that she was a powerful witch, but what she had done was beyond all of her expectations. Though she was a very modest girl, she had always known that this much was pretty obvious. Yes, she was a little insufferable know-it-all, as Snape always called her, but that only served to remind her that all the knowledge she gathered from reading one book after another was put into good use. Her personal academic achievements were proof enough of that. But again, that was beyond everything  _she_  thought possible. Even magic must have its own limits!  
  
She didn't believe in fate, destiny, karma or all that other associated rubbish. Her particular dislike for Divination was proof enough for that. Sure, she didn't see, feel or predict anything, but it was not a problem with her but this rather rubbish subject she always told herself. Her father had always told her that it was not the Fates that chose her destiny but that it would only be herself. That when someone made a poor choice in his life, he would always blame it on the Fates, but not on himself. Yes, only she would be able to choose whom she wished to become, not some silly superstitious concept for the weak minded. She would never base what she would do, wear, eat or whatever for the day, week, month or year on the horoscope, for example. Her father would always tell her to never let any rubbish like that decide what her life should be. He also told her to never give up on what she wanted her life to be. But what had happened, the events that led to how it happened and what she had done to achieve that formidable feat of magic might seriously get her to rethink her position on that front alone. After all, she had indeed appealed to them.  
  
And to think that this morning began so well with her personal little victory over that snarky little beetle that was Rita Skeeter. True, the night of the third task was supposed to be that big, happy, and mighty event what with the Triwizard tournament. The Triwizard champion claiming the cup for eternal glory and have his name marked for eternity in the history books. To see him appear before all, triumphant and brandishing his prize. But why had everything gone so wrong that night?  
  
With the rest of the spectators, she had been cheering when the champion appeared in the middle of the field with the cup, but as silence quickly fell upon them, she realised that something was wrong, terribly wrong. She was not what people would call a pessimist and surely not an optimist; she was, and would always be, just a down-to-earth realist. She preferred it that way as she was never overly disappointed or too surprised. She didn't like surprises, never had liked being surprised at all. When she heard Fleur Delacour's scream, she realised that she was right; though at that moment in time, she desperately wanted to be proved wrong. She so disliked being wrong. Something horrible, really horrible had happened.  
  
She was so frantic that she didn't realise she had started moving; she actually forced her way down the stands to the field. After all, her best friend was still a contender; he may still be in the maze or he may have appeared on the field, but why had this pandemonium begun then? She so hoped that he was okay and was so wrapped up in her own world that she didn't hear the cries, wails and screams around her. She didn't hear the whispers, the murmurs that were floating in the air. Had she actually stopped to catch her breath, she would have been able to listen. She would have known what had happened before she witnessed it herself. She would have understood then, but there was only one thing on her mind at the moment: making sure that Harry was alright. She prayed to all deities above that her best friend got out of this damn tournament alive, and thus by doing so, she completely forgot about the last contender that had still been in the maze with Harry after Victor Krum and Fleur Delacour came out.  
  
When she was finally on the field and drawing nearer to where Harry was, she finally understood the cause of this pandemonium. Harry was crouched low clutching not the Cup, which was lying a few feet from her, but someone by his shirt, a black and yellow Quidditch shirt, Cedric Diggory's black and yellow Quidditch shirt. She, at first, didn't understand what had happened, but as she paused to catch her breath, all the noise surrounding her again reached her ears, and she froze in shock.  
  
 _He was dead._  
  
Cedric Diggory, the beloved son, the cherished student, the formidable friend, the sweet, modest, honest and good young man was...  _dead_.  
  
She was instantly overwhelmed by sadness. She had seen only briefly one dead person before him this close, and that was when she had gone to her grandfather's funeral when she was ten years old. She loved her grandfather; he was always there for the holidays, family reunions and other things like that. True, she had been immensely sad when she understood that Grampa would not be there to see her go to a higher school or congratulate her on any new outstanding academic achievements, but she didn't remember feeling so much sadness at his funeral like what she felt just right now. Maybe, it was because that event was too far in time for her to recall properly how she felt. She felt herself drown in a flood of emotions in which sadness, pity and compassion were the most prominent. Tears were already streaming down her cheeks when she recognised why she felt so overwhelmed.  
  
She thought of what could have been, what he could have become. He was a talented, smart and promising young man who would have had opportunities to prove what a fantastic wizard he was in a wide array of disciplines. She imagined everything that this brilliant young man would not be able to do or achieve. Like any normal young student now, he would have gone on to pass his NEWTs with high marks assuredly. He was, after all, a hard worker like every other Hufflepuff though he really stood out in his house. But one thing she would at least give him: he was the model poster student of Hufflepuff. He wouldn't be able to get a job. In her opinion it would be the recruiters who would have been incredibly lucky if he accepted their offers.  
  
He was an excellent athlete who could have made a wonderful career in Quidditch. Though Hermione didn't give a tosh for Quidditch, she had to admit that watching him fly on a broom was absolutely mind-blowing. Though Harry was a brilliantly fast seeker for Gryffindor, Hermione had to say that Cedric surpassed Harry in grace, fluidity and charisma in the air. But she would never say that to Harry's face. Yes, he had that incredible aura in the air, and when she looked up, her eyes would always be drawn to him. It was really a pity that she had gone to very few Hufflepuff matches other than those opposing her house to his.  
  
He was a brilliant mind who would have done wonders in the fields of research or analysis. He was talented and had that knack and affinity for magic that made it seem like watching what people would call poetry in motion when he'd cast a spell. She had watched him, mesmerised by his control of magic in the first task. The fluidity, the ease with which he had transfigured that big boulder into a live dog and sent it as decoy for his dragon. She had been impressed by him that day.  
  
He would never ever bring a girl home to present to his parents, and he would also never get presented as the handsome boyfriend to the girl's parents. If she had ever had Cedric at her side at her parents' house, her mother would be overcome by joy, and she was sure that her father would have accepted him instantly, even though he would have been the man that would take his baby girl away from him. She had no idea if the relationship between him and Cho Chang was anything that serious or if it was just a school fling. He would never be able to marry the girl, have a naughty honeymoon or any morning cuddlings that would degenerate into more naughty moments.  
  
He would never get to be announced by his lovely wife that she was pregnant. No special Valentine's Day or birthdays. He would never get to see his children growing up. Yes, she thought that a man like Cedric Diggory was the kind of man who would not contend with only one child. See them to Platform nine and three-quarters, meet their friends, watch as they grow older and in turn find someone to love. He would not be able to grow old, to become a caring grandfather who would spoil his grandchildren in excess with love in company of his wife. No, he would not be able die of old age. All this was now not possible for him; he wouldn't be able to walk down that path because a sick megalomaniac bastard just happened upon his path and decided to put an end to his journey.  
  
Hermione sadly watched as Mr Diggory rushed to his son, clutching him by his shoulder, looking at Cedric's lifeless body and crying for all to see that his son, his beautiful son, his pride and joy was gone. A short, blonde woman, whose normally kind features were twisted to show pure, undiluted grief, walked up to Amos Diggory, crouched there and took one look at Cedric while caressing his face before she snuggled into her husband's chest.' Her body was shaking violently, and Hermione didn't have to be Sybil Trelawney to guess that the woman was crying.  
  
She started again to walk towards them, towards Harry, who was still crying near Cedric's body. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, crying over Cedric Diggory, the Boy Who Died. She rushed to Harry, who had let himself be carried away by Professor Moody, but then she stopped when she was directly in front of him. And she looked at him. His handsome face was slowly draining of colour, and his body was losing all signs that it had been one healthy, living being only mere hours ago.  
  
She knelt down and stared at him. In front of her, Cedric was half lying in his parents' laps while Dumbledore stood behind them with one hand resting on Mr Diggory's shoulder conveying all the pain he himself felt at losing one amongst all his prized students. Tears were still streaming down her cheeks, but she didn't bother to wipe them as more cascaded down. She grabbed his hand; it was already so cold, so lax. Just one cold body. But she didn't drop it; she just squeezed it, willing it to squeeze hers back. Like when she had barrelled down the stands to the field to get to Harry, she prayed to all deities, be it Wizarding or Muggle ones, the Fates or any higher spirits. She implored them, pleaded with them, to give this young man (as he couldn't still be considered a boy) a second chance. A second chance at life so that Cedric Diggory could live all these experiences and achieve all promises that his talents and aptitudes hinted at.  
  
Still squeezing his hand while sending her prayers to whom might make them come true. She felt a strong burst of magic inside her and focused on it, willing it to summon Cedric Diggory's soul back to his body. She knew that this would never work, but for the first time in her life, she believed. She felt in tune with her magic; it did not feel the same like when she had her wand in hand and where she had to focus to will her magic to work. She felt like her whole body swelled with magic, that it seeped through every pore of her skin and engulfed everything around her, though it seemed no one else noticed this.  
  
She did not know how long she had stayed that way, praying while tears still flowed freely down her cheeks, but she felt someone's hand touch her shoulder gently. She turned around to see her Head of House looking at her sadly. She knew what her Head of House was silently asking of her, and she slowly nodded. It was time for her to go and see how Harry was doing. She was reluctant to leave Cedric Diggory's side, but she had to make sure that Harry was not blaming himself for what had happened to Cedric, as he would surely do.  
  
But just as she started getting up, she felt the hand she was still holding twitch. She stopped and stared at it. Did that just happen or did she only imagine it? That was surely her imagination playing tricks on her, but as she started to get up again, she felt it twitch again. She again stared at the hand, then at his face, but nothing had changed. Wasn't his left foot twisted the other way? Again, Hermione cursed her imagination, and she looked up to see Dumbledore looking at her and Cedric's clasped hands, a deep frown on his face. She turned again to her Head of House, but that was when it happened. Cedric Diggory's hand squeezed hers tightly and she gasped. She watched mesmerized as Cedric's body arched upwards, like some gigantic invisible hook had gripped him and was pulling him towards the sky. He then collapsed entirely. And again, for a second time, just as suddenly his body jerked upwards. And that's when Cedric Diggory screamed, a long heart-breaking scream.  
  
 _Bloody freaking Merlin! What the hell has just happened?_  
  
To say that she was shocked was most certainly the biggest understatement of the century or of the millennia; she was paralysed as before her eyes a breathing, albeit still screaming, Cedric Diggory was shaking. He appeared to be in great pain like he had been cursed with a never-ending Cruciatus curse. But Hermione Granger was actually hypnotised by the rapid rise and fall of Cedric Diggory's chest. He was actually breathing!  
  
 _HE WAS ALIVE!_

 

 

 


	2. All Fall Down

  
Author's notes:

  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

 

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**  
Note:**  Just a little note before reading. This chapter contains quotations (though some are modified for the purpose of the story) from  **Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire**.  
  
The chapters from which they come from are:  **Beauxbatons and Durmstrang** , **Veritaserum**  and  **The Parting of the Ways**.

 

Thanks to my wonderful beta: **Queen of Stars**

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**  
All Fall Down**

  
  
  
  
Cedric Diggory stood horrified as he watched the deadly curse fly swiftly towards him. He did not even tell himself that he could or should dodge it; he was paralysed, unable to make a single move. Who could have thought that someone would want to kill him? He thought that he never would have elicited such cruel feelings in someone that would have resulted in his being targeted with an Avada Kedavra. But there it was; he was going to die, and it seemed that his body was perfectly alright with that, though his mind still had difficulty processing that fact. Cedric Diggory had always known that he was loved, cherished or admired. As modest as he was, Cedric had always felt thoroughly embarrassed when his father would start bragging proudly about his achievements.  
  
The spell hit him straight in the chest, and the impact was so violent that he was thrown backwards. He never felt his body crash on the grass in this cemetery; he could not. He was already dead before he hit the ground.   
  
All that had shown on Cedric Diggory’s face the moment he know he was going to die was an odd mixture between surprise and shock.  
  
He found himself in some odd chamber, one that seemed to have no limits, no walls and no ceilings. The floor seemed to be made from some sort of compact cloud. It did not feel like having a floor beneath his feet, nor did he feel like he was floating in space. He felt grounded to the floor and at the same time it felt like he was not. What was more intriguing for him was that this chamber, or whatever it was, though as wide and large as it was, was nonetheless very empty. There was just an odd mist or fog that floated around him that blocked everything from view. He was very much alone here or was he?  
  
No one was there for him to tell him that it would be okay, though he knew that it never would. The only thing that seemed to surround him was air or was it really air and a noise. An ethereal wail that seemed to be made of a thousand, million or may be billion different voices all expressing only one feeling at the same time.  _Sadness_.  
  
He understood exactly the reason behind their cries as he shared the same feeling at the moment, sadness beyond all he had ever felt before. He was not sad for himself. He was sad for all those he left behind. Sad for his parents who always told him how proud they were of him, how much they loved him and cared for him.  
  
"Whatever you choose to do this year, Cedric, just always remember that your father and I will support your decision without any reserve. You know that we love you, and we just want you to be happy and have a great year at school," his mother had said to him just before he got onto the Hogwarts Express on the first of September last year. It seemed like an eternity had passed since that time. He knew that his parents knew of a special event that was to be held at school during the year; his father, working at the Ministry, had been dropping some not so subtle hints during the summer. But had he ever known that this tournament would have led him to his death, he surely would never have entered. Or would he actually have entered knowing what would have happened in the end? What was the purpose anyway of this question? What was done was already done; there was nothing that could change that. No use crying over spilt milk as they said.  
  
He felt sad for his friends who backed him, had coaxed him to enter this tournament, as they believed that only he could restore the glory to Hufflepuff house. He had been oddly, but most pleasantly, surprised when he heard a Gryffindor defending him. It had been one week before Halloween, and a large sign had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. He was on his way to the common room when he heard his name. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but what he heard was most definitely very pleasant. Apparently, Potter and Weasley, having read the post, were discussing the tournament, and his name got dragged along.  
  
"That idiot, Hogwarts champion?" had asked the youngest Weasley boy as they were pushing to get to the staircase. He would have hexed that little dumb-ass if he hadn't heard what was said immediately after that.  
  
"He's not an idiot; you just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch," had said Granger. "I've heard he's a really good student –  _and_  he's a Prefect." That he was indeed. He had heard of Granger before; who wouldn't have heard of her? She was one of the best friends of Harry Potter for crying out loud, and as if that wasn't enough, she had already established herself in only three years at school as one of the most brilliant witches in the last hundred years.  
  
That was exactly why Cedric had wanted to enter this tournament. He wanted to leave a mark so that people remembered him in future generations for something he had accomplished. Granger was already dubbed 'The Brightest Witch of her Generation,' but what about him? If he won the Triwizard Tournament, he would be remembered not only for having won it but he would be revered as an example for following generations of Hufflepuffs and to other Houses.  
  
He just wanted to leave a mark for the future generations. Now he would be forever known as 'The Boy Who Died'.  
  
He could also prove to the other houses that Hufflepuff was definitely not a house for duffers, as he sometimes overheard Gryffindor or Slytherin students' snide remarks. His house valued what he thought were essential values for life after school. Fair play, goodness, honesty, loyalty and, above all, hard work. Without those, no one would be able to advance in life. Sure, you could still show bravery, courage and nobility of the heart, but what good would that do if you could not find a job that required hard work as a prerequisite? You could be brilliant and smart, but sometimes it still wasn't enough to get the job done. To be cunning and ambitious would mean to let down loyalty, honesty, and fair play as people who were ambitious would always find it hard to advance in life without having to abandon a friend or stabbing someone in the back if it served their purpose. Yes, Cedric Diggory believed that Helga Hufflepuff got it right all along.  
  
He felt like he was called or summoned somewhere, and he found himself squeezed out of a tunnel which turned out to be a wand. He watched as he saw that Harry Potter was struggling to maintain an odd connection between his wand and Voldemort's wand. He found that he could think of his name without mentally wincing, so maybe it was true after all, 'Fear of a name only increases the fear itself'. At least that was what he had heard someone quoting some three years ago when he was at Diagon Alley buying his books for his fourth year; he never knew who it was, but he guessed that didn't matter now as he wouldn't be able to thank him.  
  
The sight of Voldemort’s face would have scarred him for life if he weren't already dead. Another thing that had changed now. Was he beginning to accept that there would be no turning back, that nothing would change now? He did not want to dwell on that for the time being; he had eternity now to think of that. Instead, he went to Potter's side and asked him to hold on and to bring his body back to his parents.  _His body_. His parents would need his body in order to give him a proper funeral, and he did not want those monsters to foul his body any more than was necessary if it was left behind.  
  
When Potter had broken the connection and rushed to his body, he had rushed to Voldemort in order to block him from his sight, to buy him time to get out of there. And then Potter was gone, clutching his body. He found that he did not want to stay here in the same cemetery in which he died, so he focused on his parents and found himself standing there on the field watching as Potter called for help.  
  
He saw a girl with a bushy mane of hair force her way down the stands to get to the field. Granger. Of course she would go to her friend; he had realised that, though an excellent Gryffindor Granger could be, she would have made one very fine Hufflepuff had she been sorted in his house. He noticed how she had stuck through thick and thin to Potter's side while even Weasley had abandoned him. Even despite the snide remarks and the press articles depicting her as a scarlet woman, she had stayed strong. He had also heard from Percy Weasley, last year's Head Boy, that the Ravenclaw Prefects had even petitioned to Dumbledore to have her resorted as they believed that such a brilliant mind could only belong to their house. How arrogant of them. She had even wished him good luck in the tent on the day of the first task.  
  
He noticed that she had stopped just a few feet from where Potter and Dumbledore were and that she seemed to be in quite a state of shock. She was silently crying; tears he saw were streaming down her cheeks, and she looked at him. She seemed overwhelmed by sadness or maybe pity. No, he did not want to be looked at with pity from anyone, so he turned his gaze from her and saw Cho crying loudly into Marietta Edgecombe's shoulder. He saw then that his father was making his way down the stands followed closely by his mother. No, he did not want to see this, so he turned and thought about going away.  
  
Where was that damn tunnel of light and the goddamned forsaken heavenly melody that was supposed to show him the way? Was it not enough for him to have to witness all the pain that his departure was causing to the people that he loved the most? But he had to also see this sadness from someone to whom he had never spoken more than a few words? He remembered that they had exchanged more than just a hello or good morning only once before. It was the day of the first task, just before he had to get past his dragon.  
  
He had watched her sneak into the tent, so as to give Potter some last minute encouragement and hugs and then surprise him by coming before him to wish him a hearty good luck. He felt jealous then that Potter's best friend had sneaked there to see if he was okay when not even his girlfriend had wished him good luck that morning, believing that it was a sure win. He had been even more surprised when after the task, while Potter and Weasley were making amends, she had again come before him to congratulate him and say that she was impressed by his transfiguration skills.  
  
"Granger, you would have managed to get past that dragon in half less time that it took me and without getting burned in the process," he had said to her, "but anyway, thank you very much." Her answer surprised him even more.  
  
"Maybe or maybe not. The question here is whether I would have entered the tournament had it even been possible for me? I do not regularly put myself in danger unless necessary you know, self-preservation and all that." She had said all that in one breath and with a huge smile. She added, "Anyway, congratulations again. You might want to put a shirt on though and get out to hear your marks. You’ll need to see your friends, who most certainly are waiting for you."   
  
He hadn't realised that he was shirtless all this time, and he noticed that she hadn't blushed when she said this, she just smiled. Then, just like that, she had exited the tent. Those few words that were exchanged had been for him the least awkward conversation he ever had with a girl for the last three or four years. He had liked that and would have liked talking to her more, but they never got the chance to do that again.  
  
He wanted to ask her why she was crying for him. She did not know him, but she cried for him. Why? Another thing that he would not be able to do now. He wanted to get out here, be anywhere other than on this field where his spirit or whatever he was watched people he loved or knew and numerous people who he did not know cry for him. That was when he heard it.  
  
It was like a whisper in the wind, a murmur that floated around calling him. It felt like a prayer or a melodious lament or chant. Before he heard that melodious voice, he had felt cold. Did he still feel anyway? Or was it only a trick of the mind? This was so confusing, to think of feelings that only a living, breathing person could still do while he was dead. _Dead_.   
  
But now this voice, this beautiful voice like a gush of warm air, brought with it hope. Was it that heavenly melody that announced that he could proceed to the afterlife? But the voice was not calling him to follow it. No, it was calling him back saying that he could not go, that he should not go. He wanted to shout that he did not want to go anyway but that he could not do anything about it right now. It would be pointless. Would it have heard him then?  
  
He did not want to die when he was only seventeen years old. Bloody freaking Merlin, he was only seventeen years old for crying out loud. He still had his life ahead of him. And now just like that, his life ended. Because he had not been smart or quick enough to realise that the big freaking green curse flying towards him was meant to kill him. Of course, he knew it was the deadly curse, but who would have thought that someone would wish death to a boy? Sure, he was of age, but that did not alter the fact that he was still a boy. But Cedric had come to accept that he was dead. No amount of self-loathing would change that fact now. He did not want to be a ghost, but he recognised that this was exactly what he was at the moment. He was a ghost, still invisible to others as he had not yet made a decision. Go on or stay. He would not stay and watch his parents, friends, teachers and others cry for him. He didn’t have the heart to watch their despair while he floated around them telling them that it was okay. Because it was not okay, absolutely not okay. No, he would move on; he should move on. He was not afraid. What was there to be afraid of anyway? Nothing that would ever be able to harm him when he was already dead.  
  
But what if? What if he followed the voice to wherever it guided him? Could he live again? Hope? Death was irreversible, as he had always been taught. But what he had seen in that cemetery came to his mind; Voldemort was alive. Really alive, a horrible sight for who was not prepared but still alive. So what if?  
  
He had been musing on these questions for a while when he felt another gust of wind blow over him. He felt the wind like he would have felt it against his body had he been standing outside in a storm walking against the wind. He felt himself being pushed backwards. The voice was still there in the wind telling him not to go, that his parents and friends needed him, that it was not his time to go, that he still had a chance to prove himself.  
  
And just like that, Cedric Diggory let himself be pushed back by that strong gust of wind while the voice was still whispering that he had a chance, that he could live again, should live again. The emotion he felt bubbling inside him finally overcame all remaining restraints that held him back.  _HOPE_.  
  
He felt himself be pushed back, tumble down and fall. The last image he had was that of one small delicate hand holding his left hand and then only darkness. Nothing but darkness. He still heard the cries, laments and wails, but he could not see where he was. All he felt was that his body was laying on someone's lap, that this someone was shaking, obviously crying, while his left hand was being squeezed by one small, delicate hand. It felt odd.  
  
Now what? He was in his body, but he was not able to do anything. He willed his body to react, restart. Maybe that was the problem; his body still believed he was dead while he was trapped in it. Do something, breathe, squeeze, sneeze, twitch, move or even fart but at least do something. He felt the small hand release its grip on his. No, he did not want her to go, and he wanted to make it known to whomever the small hand belonged to that he did not want it to go.  
  
There was some reaction; he felt his hand twitch just a little. Had it been enough to be noticed by someone? Apparently, as whomever the small, delicate hand belonged to paused as if waiting for something similar to happen.   
  
 _Okay let's do this again,_  he told himself. Again his hand twitched. He waited to see if the small, delicate hand would move. Then, he remembered it was up to him to make this work, to make his body work again. He mentally screamed,  _NOW!_  
  
He then felt an odd sensation coursing through his whole body. It seemed all his body cells, all his nerves had reacted at the same time, and he felt pain. It was like a thousand million little needles had pierced through his skin and lodged themselves in each of his cells. Did it feel like this when you are hit with a Cruciatus? Again he mentally screamed, _NOW,_  and he felt like some gigantic hook had pulled him from his navel into the air and then dropped him back unceremoniously to the grassy ground below. He felt air enter and leave his lungs.  _AGAIN!_  He was pulled again into the air and dropped down, but this time, he felt himself breathe slowly in and out. The pain was excruciatingly still there, and there was only one way for him to acknowledge it. He screamed!

**********************************************

  
  
  
It was one gigantic blur. One moment he was screaming his lungs out on the field, the next he was being swiftly carried on a stretcher inside to the hospital wing, and the next he was being laid on a bed with crisp sheets in a room that smelt strongly of disinfectant and antiseptic. Coupled to that, was an odd smell that was surely the result of the variety of noxious potions used in the Wizarding world. The Hospital Wing.  
  
But the only thought that had gone through his mind during all this was that he lost hold of the small, delicate hand. He wanted to cry, scream to whoever was carrying him that he had lost hold of one important thing. He wanted the person to whom this small, delicate hand belonged to come with him. He would have asked them to go back so he could grab hold of it, even make the person sit on his stretcher if necessary, but he could not. All he could do actually was scream. The pain was still intense and cruel. But one thing stayed on his mind despite the pain. He was  _ALIVE_. He was alive; he was in intense pain, but the fact that he could feel this pain only served to remind him of this one important fact, he was  _ALIVE_.  
  
In his current state, he could only hear some brief snippets of conversation in which he recognised the voices of Madam Pomfrey, Professors Sprout and Flitwick, and his father and mother.  
  
"My son, my son, my son, he's alive. Cedric! He's alive!" chanted his father while sobbing loudly somewhere to his right.  
  
"Why is he still screaming; what's happening to my darling Cedric?" That was his mother asking someone who was not far from him on his left. At least that was what he guessed when she answered.  
  
"It seems that his body is fighting to cleanse itself of the Killing Curse. Don't ask me how; I really do not have the answer to that myself. But his body had been dead for at least one or two hours before that," answered Madam Pomfrey. Had he really been dead for two hours? It felt like only ten or fifteen minutes. Maybe when you died, eternity did not seem that long for the dead to wait for their loved ones to join them? "His body needs to restart after such a long time; his functions, his organs, his muscles, his nerves all need to work again, and that is why it is so painful for him. I just hope he has no lasting side-effects from this horrible curse." Could it be, would he be able to live but unable to move? He could not be a paraplegic; how would he be able to play Quidditch? Would he be able to fly again? Would he be unable to feel the rush of adrenaline that he always felt when he was flying?  
  
"But how is it that he's still alive?" squeaked Flitwick somewhere near the foot of his bed. As if he had the answer to that!  
  
"Not that we are not grateful that he's alive, Filius?" admonished his Head of House.  
  
"Of course, Pomona, I am more than grateful that he's alive, but how did he survive?" responded Flitwick indignantly.  
  
"Again, I do not have the answer to that. Only Harry Potter and now Cedric Diggory have survived the killing curse, and this is something that only Cedric would be able to answer. Let's hope he's at least able to talk," added Pomfrey in an undertone.  _Well someone is really optimist here_.   
  
"Now if you could just all give me space to work and stop interrupting, I would be more than grateful!" Pomfrey added.  
  
He heard the doors open with a bang and Pomfrey growled, "What NOW?"  
  
Someone came over to tell her something, though he did not hear all of the hushed conversation. Apparently, someone had picked this moment to faint on the field and had to be rushed in when they were unable to Ennervate him. He heard Professor Sprout tell Pomfrey that she would take care of it while she could remain by Cedric's side.  
  
Again, the doors opened with a bang, and he heard someone walk briskly towards him. Then the steps faltered like he was hesitating. "What's happening here?" asked someone. Snape. He apparently did not know what had happened to him or more plausibly to the other person that was brought in.  
  
"Never mind that now, I'll deal with it. What is it?" snapped Pomfrey, obviously irritated by all these interruptions.  
  
"The Headmaster asks you to head to the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom where Professor Moody needs your assistance," replied the dungeon bat, apparently not at all fazed by the snappish manner of the matron.  
  
"And why is it I'm I needed there just now when I have more pressing matters to attend to, Severus?"  
  
"Because Moody needs medical assistance as he has been shut in a trunk for nine months, subject to numerous stunners and has had quite some hair taken for Polyjuice Potion," Snape replied patiently.  
  
"Oh, for Merlin’s sake, madness will never cease in this school. Alright," she sniffed. "I'll be right down, Severus; I just need to give him a dreamless sleep potion and also a pain draught potion. His body should be doing all the work now."  
  
He was force-fed one disgusting potion after the other. And he fell asleep almost instantly.

**********************************************

  
  
  
He woke up to quite a commotion that was apparently making its way to the hospital wing. He had opened his eyes; it was all blurry, but after he blinked a few times, the shadows he saw became more and more sharp. It was night-time according to him.  
  
He heard someone whisper across the room.  
  
"They'll wake them if they don't shut up! What are they shouting about? Nothing else can have happened, can it?" Wasn't that Bill Weasley's voice?  
  
What could have happened again? Cedric scanned the room, taking note that his parents had stood up and were both looking to the doors. The screen had been pulled around his bed.  
  
"That's Fudge's voice," came a woman's voice, "and that's Minerva McGonagall's, isn't it? But what are they arguing about?"  
  
"Oh, Amos, what have they done again?" his mother asked his father, who had pulled back the screen. He saw that two beds were apparently occupied opposite him and one at the far corner of the room. All screened. But on the opposite side, he could clearly distinguish Bill Weasley's head over the screen. He then heard what they were talking about.  
  
"Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva—" That was Minister Fudge talking loudly.  
  
"You should never have brought it inside the castle!" yelled Professor McGonagall. "When Dumbledore finds out—"  
  
He saw the hospital doors burst open. Opposite him, Bill Weasley pulled back the screens, and he saw Potter, unnoticed by any, sit up and put his glasses on. He did not look his way but only to the doors.  
  
Fudge came striding up the ward. Professors McGonagall and Snape were at his heels.  
  
"Where's Dumbledore?" Fudge demanded of Mrs Weasley. So, she was Bill's mother. The feared matriarch of the Weasley family.  
  
"He's not here," said Mrs Weasley angrily. "This is a hospital wing, Minister, don't you think you'd do better to—" It was apparent that Minister or not, Fudge would have been told to get lost had the hospital doors not opened once more to reveal Dumbledore.  
  
"What has happened?" said Dumbledore sharply, looking from Fudge to Professor McGonagall. "Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I'm surprised at you – I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch—"  
  
"Barty Crouch?" whispered his father.  
  
"There is no need to stand guard over him anymore, Dumbledore!" she shrieked. "The Minister has seen to that!'"  
  
What had happened to make McGonagall so angry? Cedric had never seen her so angry. She was literally losing control. There were angry blotches of colour in her cheeks, her hands were balled into fists; she was trembling with fury.  
  
"When we told Mr Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events, he seemed to feel his personal safety in question. He insisted on summoning a Dementor to accompany him into the castle. A Death Eater masquerading as a professor and a Dementor in a school. Had the Minister lost his mind? He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch—   
  
I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!" stormed Professor McGonagall. "I told him you would never allow Dementors to set foot inside the castle, but—"  
  
Cedric listened horrified to what had happened. How could they have done this? No one should ever be subject to a Dementor's kiss. How could someone live without his soul? It would not even account to living but more like surviving until eventually your body finally gave up. There would not even be need for a Grim Reaper as there would be no soul for him to take away! This was a really horrible fate.   
  
He heard someone sobbing opposite him. No, not his mother nor Mrs Weasley as he scanned the room. The bed that was to the left of Potter's also had its screens pulled back, and behind these were Fred, George, Ronald and the girl Weasley, and on the bed lay Granger. She had her head in her hands, and he saw that it was her that was sobbing. He felt his heart drop as apparently Granger's compassion even went to Death Eaters who were given the Kiss. So, he now remembered that he would be able to ask her why she cried for him, someone who she did not know.  
  
He felt incensed that Fudge qualified Crouch getting the kiss a no loss; who would testify then? Who would then be able to share with the public how all that blasted tournament had served as the purpose for Voldemort's return? He felt somewhat indignant that Dumbledore qualified his death and those that had been killed before as a mere by-product for Voldemort's plan. And now this sorry excuse for a Minister was dumbly refusing to accept the horrible truth that  _He_  was back. How could he not believe Dumbledore when he had so clearly told him the entire story that led to where they were now? And to think that he had been seriously planning to work in the Ministry in the future. Now, Cedric would say to someone who would ask him to work for Fudge's ministry, he would do that only when he would see a giggling McGonagall or Snape donning a pink cloak. Now that would be a sight to see. Maybe he could tell Fred and George this for a prank idea?  
  
He was furious that Fudge appeared not to believe Potter because of those damned Skeeter articles. He seemed to think that Harry was mentally deranged, unstable. He saw Dumbledore glancing his way, surprise etched on his face. That was one thing he felt he would never have seen on Dumbledore's face; how could this formidable wizard still be surprised? Oh! OH! He realised just then all that he had been able to do; all this drama had completely pushed all of this aside. He heard and he saw. He could move his arms which he flexed just to check, as well as his feet. Yes, all in perfect working condition.  _Now, let's try speech_.  
  
"Perhaps I myself could give a testimony on what happened to me and on what happened there?" he spoke, loud and clear. Good, very good.  
  
If all the people in the hospital wing had jumped when Potter had asked the Minister if he had been reading Rita Skeeter recently, it was nothing compared to when he spoke out. Potter cried, Pomfrey, McGonagall, Mrs Weasley and the girl Weasley screamed, all the Weasley boys shouted while Snape's head snapped in his direction. He noted that he might have cricked it. Granger seemed, however like she could stand as a lighthouse on the darkest of stormy nights the way she beamed at him. His parents both jumped but then rushed to his side and hugged him like there was no tomorrow. But he just extricated himself from his parents' massive bear hug to look sharply at the Minister.  
  
"I could give a full account on what happened to me in that cemetery," he said again as politely as he could, though he would have shouted it at him. But he knew that if he was able to stay as calm as he could while being clear on what he was saying, the Minister would give more credit to it than at Potter's childish temper outburst.  
  
"And what did happen then, pray tell?" asked derisively the Minister.  
  
"Minister Fudge, not be disrespectful to your position in the wizarding society, I would be more than happy if you just paid attention instead of making fun of my son! After all, he was attacked in this bloody tournament, a Ministry sponsored one at that. And if I'm not mistaken, I have the right to ask for a full investigation of tonight's events by the Wizengamot. Don't I?” snapped his mother, who was openly glaring at the Minister, who seemed to shrink in response and lose the little colour he had and dropped his bowler hat to the ground. Did Cedric ever say he loved his mother? Let the world know that he ADORED her! But no, he was not a momma's boy!  
  
"Sorry about that, Mrs Diggory. Now, let's hear what happened to you, young Master Diggory?" said Mr Fudge placatingly. Cedric noted that he had not answered his mother's question, and he knew without a doubt that his mother would not let that pass though. And he was not disappointed.  
  
"You have failed to answer my question, Minister. Am I or am I not able to ask for a full investigation by the Wizengamot?" retorted his mother.  
  
"Well, I do not see why it is necessary to get the Wizengamot into this, but yes, you can," conceded Mr Fudge, who had bent to gather his hat.  
  
"And I will; you can be sure that I will want to show some light on the Ministry's involvement in this affair. It won't be necessary for Cedric to give his testimony now as it seems that you are adverse to the truth at the moment. I will send my request as soon as possible." His mother was his hero. Did you know that Claire Diggory was one of the most respected members of the best wizarding law firm in the country? And to top it all, she was also the sister of Madam Amelia Bones. His aunt was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as well as a respected member of the Wizengamot.   
  
Now, if he could only find a girl that would be all the time this inspiring. That was one of the things that he would able to do now, and he promised himself that he would find the perfect girl. Who would instantly get his mother's approval without having to battle her. She did not apparently like or approve of Cho Chang. She had been observing a girl at the Gryffindor table. Who, he probably would never know.  
  
The Minister felt like he had lost this battle. Though he still refused to believe Dumbledore and refused to accept all the suggestions he gave him to prepare for the immediate future, he seemed wary, extremely wary, of his mother.  _And he should be,_  Cedric told himself. If there was one word that could be used to qualify his mother, it was stubborn. She would not rest until this was over. And he could count on his aunt also to shed light on this affair. How could this man ever have been given the post of Minister? Well, he could easily guess the result. Corruption!  
  
The Ministry was an old institution crippled and blinded by prejudice. It was so adverse to change that he could easily count on his hands how many heads of departments in the Ministry were either a half-blood or Muggle-born. None. Oh, they were indeed employed by the ministry, but they were never promoted to posts of higher responsibility. Even members of the oldest pureblood families were sometimes shunned in some non-important department, like Mr Weasley, because they were perceived as blood-traitors. Though his family was widely respected and as old as the Blacks, Malfoys or others, they were perceived to be also blood-traitors. Fudge had appealed to these old families by saying what they wanted to hear, and as they held influence over the other families, Fudge's election was a given. It wasn’t a wonder that when he had asked Justin Finch-Fletchley what he intended to do as a career, he was told that Justin would most likely not stay. He would either go back to the Muggle world or if he choose to stay in the Wizarding world, the latter would move to the US, Canada or Australia. Justin thought that making a career in the Wizarding world in those countries was more possible than in Europe. The New World countries were very much less prejudiced to Muggle-borns there.  
  
He tuned back on what was happening before him and noted that Fudge was still refusing to admit the truth. "If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius," said Dumbledore, "we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I – I shall act as I see fit."  
  
Dumbledore's voice carried no hint of a threat; it sounded like a mere statement, but Fudge fidgeted as though Dumbledore was advancing upon him with a wand.  
  
"Stupid man!" remarked his mother, and he could not help but agree. If Fudge thought that he could oppose Dumbledore, then he was most assuredly fighting an already lost battle.  
  
Fudge had visibly heard enough and had almost made it to the double doors when he stopped, turned around and walked back, taking two large bags of gold from his pocket, throwing one of those on Potter's bed and the other on his. "Five hundred Galleons each. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but in the circumstances ...'"  
  
And he walked out, cramming his bowler hat onto his head and slamming the door behind him. After he disappeared, Dumbledore turned to look at all those still present in the hospital wing.  
  
He turned to his father and mother first. "Claire, Amos, I do think that you have believed all that transpired tonight?" he asked them.  
  
"Yes, without a doubt. How could we doubt that after what has happened to Cedric!" responded his father while his mother nodded.  
  
"Then I believe that all information that will be disclosed as from now will stay behind these walls?" he asked them.  
  
"Yes," they both answered.  
  
Dumbledore had turned to him, silently asking the same question.  
  
"Yes, Professor," he responded immediately.  
  
"Amos, Claire, we need people who would be able to see behind the lies that I believe the Minister would create to mask the truth. We need people who will be able act accordingly," he told them.  
  
"Amos and I know some people that have always thought the Minister lacked proper common sense!" immediately answered his mother. Did he say that he was proud of his mother already?  
  
Satisfied with this answer, Dumbledore turned to Mrs Weasley to ask obviously the same question. And the response was positive. Bill Weasley even said that he would go inform his dad immediately.  
  
Bill clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, kissed his mother on the cheek, pulled on his cloak, crossed the room and squeezed Cedric's shoulder, "Happy to see that you're well again, Cedric" and then strode quickly from the room.  
  
Dumbledore was still giving instructions around to McGonagall and Pomfrey. The both of them also exited the room; though Madam Pomfrey did a quick exam on Cedric before departing, it was only after their departures that Sirius Black morphed from the black, shaggy dog. Cedric had only noticed the dog when it had growled at Fudge when he had said that Potter was unstable. The tension in the room was thick. It seemed that Black and Snape had some issues that they never got around to resolving. Dumbledore asked them to shake hands, emphasizing that they were both on the same side. It was the quickest handshake he had ever seen in his life.  
  
Dumbledore asked Black to alert some people that he did not know of while he asked Snape to accomplish some task. That task was apparently very dangerous since when Snape had swept out of the room, Dumbledore appeared slightly apprehensive. Dumbledore then turned to Potter and Cedric, telling them that they should rest and take their potions, and in a swish of robes, he was gone. Though he did not feel sleepy or tired right now, he assured his mother that he would take his potion in a moment.  
  
He was actually busy watching Granger, who had already got out of bed and was walking towards a window. Her hand had snatched something on the ledge, and she was clutching it tight in her hands saying sorry for all the noise she had made. She then walked back to her bed, conjured a glass jar, muttered some spells and deposited whatever she had caught in the jar. She lifted it to her eye level to look at what was inside smiling triumphantly, all the while. That was when she saw him observing her. Instead of blushing or quickly hiding what she was doing, she slowly placed down the jar. She bestowed him with another radiant smile.  
  
 _What a strange girl,_  he told himself before finally taking his dreamless sleep potion and falling back in a deep sleep.  



End file.
